


Falling Snow

by Vaguely_Saunter



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaguely_Saunter/pseuds/Vaguely_Saunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots from the life of Haurchefant Greystone and those close to him. More characters to be included as chapters progress. Possible Haurchefant/Francel in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 - Haurchefant Age 8

  
Haurchefant Greystone - Age 8

  
Haurchefant paused in front of the manor and tried to calm himself. He’d be here before, after all. Just… not this particular house. His mother was a fairly skilled weaver, and would sometimes receive work requests from House Haillenarte. He always enjoyed the brief moments they got to spend there, where he’d get to play with the other children and they never made him feel different. He could feel comfortable there. It was strange to think that these two houses were just right across from each other, and yet this one should cause him so much concern.

He swallowed the lump that was reforming in his throat, and took a step forward. “E-excuse me, sir.”

The House Fortemps guard looked down at him curiously. “Why hello there… can I help you?”

“I-I need to see the Count, please.” The lump rose in his throat again, and his voice cracked. “I-it’s important.”

The guard studied him closely, “What’s your name, boy?” His voice was stern, but not unfriendly.

“H-Haurchefant.”

The guard looked contemplative, then after a moment his face lit up, as though just remembering something important. “Oh! Of course, right this way.”

Haurchefant followed the guard into the mansion. The design was similar to the Haillenarte Manor, but the scale still amazed him and for a moment he was able to forget himself.

The guard bade him to stay in the solar while he went to fetch the Count and Haurchefant was snapped back to reality again.

_I mustn’t cry._ He recited the mantra over and over in his head. It wouldn’t do to look pathetic in front of the Count, even if he felt it.

“Haurchefant!”

Startled, he looked up. “Fa— Count Fortemps.” He hadn’t actually spoken with his father before. Could he even call him that? Did he dare?

His father looked concerned for a moment, like he was about to say something but thought better of it. “What brings you here?”

“I-I was looking for work, sir.” Haurchefant looked down nervously. The Count’s gaze was warm and welcoming, but it still felt difficult to bear.

“Work?” Count Fortemps asked, “whyever would you be looking for work?”

The lump rose in his throat again. “I-it’s mother, she’s ill…” His voice cracked, and he felt tears burning his eyes. “I-I’ve tried to help, b-but she needs a doctor and…” A sob slipped past his throat, and he suddenly found himself unable to contain them.

Count Fortemps knelt and pulled the boy into his arms. Haurchefant returned the embrace, sobbing uncontrollably into the man’s shoulder.

“What is this _rat_ doing in our house?!” A woman’s voice interrupted, and Haurchefant looked up abruptly, suddenly frozen.

The Count stood, glowering. “This is my son you’re addressing, Selainne.”

Haurchefant turned his gaze back to his father, then back to the woman. He felt a dire urge to run, to escape before he could somehow make things worse, but he felt rooted to the spot. He looked around the room, at the guards and retainers and felt utterly trapped. If he ran, would they try to catch him? What would happen to him if they did?

“ _Your_ son, yes.” The woman said, raising her chin defiantly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I think this conversation should wait for a more appropriate moment, Selainne.” The Count said in a low voice.

“I’m afraid I disagree.” The woman responded indifferently.

The Count gave a resigned sigh, and turned back to Haurchefant. It wasn’t until he felt the steadying hand on his shoulder that he realized he’d been shaking so terribly.

“Haurchefant, I’m terribly sorry… could you wait a moment outside? I’ll be back as soon as I am able, and we can talk.” The Count whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of the boy’s face. Haurchefant nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and trying desperately not to look at the woman.

One of the retainers lead Haurchefant back outside, where he slumped against the edge of the stone waterway outside the mansion.

“Baseborn brats don’t belong up here.”

Haurchefant looked up to see a boy a few years his senior sneering down at him. He vaguely recognized him, possibly the child of a lesser noble of some sort. “I’m supposed to be here.”

The other boy scoffed. “Right. Hoping Halone will take pity on you and your father will take you in, no doubt. _Bastards_ are outside the grace of Halone, you know.”

Haurchefant clenched his teeth. His mother always told him to to ignore hateful comments. People hated things they didn’t understand, returning that hatred would only further encourage it.

Lately though, his mother hadn’t been saying much of anything.

“What do you know about Halone anyway.” Haurchefant growled.

“More than you!” The boy laughed, “ _I’m_ going to be an inquisitor when I get older. Maybe I’ll be around for your trial, even! If someone doesn’t get there first, of course.”

“Good. I hope you trip and fall off Witchdrop.” Haurchefant shot back. He immediately regretted, he shouldn’t have said anything at all, but he was just so tired.

The boy inhaled deeply, eyes burning with rage. “ _Heretic!_ ” He snarled, and Haurchefant flinched despite himself. That wasn’t a word to be thrown around lightly, you never knew who would hear and act upon it.

“Is there a problem here, boys?” The House Fortemps guard had joined them, now, eyebrows raised.

“This rat insulted me!”

Haurchefant drew his knees up to his chest and stared fixedly at his shoes. Now he’d done it. It wasn’t enough to ruin everything when he was inside the manor, he had to get himself in trouble outside it as well.

“From what I saw, you were harassing an honored guest of House Fortemps…” The guard said skeptically. “If there’s an issue here, I will have to relay that to the Count so that it can be settled between your houses.”

Haurchefant looked up in shock, as the other boy suddenly paled.

“N-no sir! No problem at all! I-I must have been mistaken.” He stammered, backing away.

“I thought as much!” The guard said happily, “so I shouldn’t need to go fetch the Count, then?”

“Not all, sir! I-I’ll be on my way.” The boy exclaimed, hurrying off.

“Thank you.” Haurchefant said in awe.

The guard shrugged. “You looked like you’d been having a bad enough of a day without dealing with that nonsense.”

Haurchefant nodded, resting his chin on his knees.

“What’s bothering you, anyway?” The guard sat down next to him.

“It’s my mother… she’s been terribly ill. She needs a doctor, but we don’t have the money…” Haurchefant sighed, “I was hoping to find work with the Count, but… I messed it all up.”

“Messed it up?” The guard asked gently.

“A woman came in… she was very angry. I-I’m not sure—”

“Ah, the Countess, then.” The guard nodded.

“She wanted to talk to him, so Father told me to wait out here.” Haurchefant sighed.

The guard looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I feel like I would be neglecting my duties if I failed to warn my Lord of a recent suspicious youth skulking about the Last Vigil, spouting wild accusations of heresy… you never know with these types, how much of a threat they could be.” He stood up, looking somewhat satisfied with himself. “Surely this is a matter of great import that my Lord would want to know of _immediately_ , even if it should interrupt another meeting, I think. … And while I’m there, I’m sure I could slip a word in for you.” He winked conspiratorially.

Haurchefant’s eyes lit up and he smiled back. It had been days since he’d had reason to smile genuinely, he was grateful for it.

It seemed like an eternity before the guard returned, carrying an envelope and a small bag. Haurchefant jumped up and rushed to meet him.

“I bring you good news!” The guard said happily, “The Count has a very important task for you. You see, this letter urgently needs to be delivered right away, but the Count isn’t currently able to pry himself away from his duties. He would be most grateful if you could deliver it for him.”

Haurchefant nodded eagerly, “Of course! I can see to it straight away.”

“Excellent! You are aware of the Jeweled Crozier area, correct?” The guard handed him the letter.

Haurchefant nodded again, turning the envelope over in his hands, examining the handwriting. He was very well versed in the layout of most of the city. He spent a good amount of time exploring, and any time his mother went out on errands he was always sure to accompany her.

“Very good. The letter needs to be delivered to Burchard Drieu, and you must make sure he reads it immediately. Don’t leave until you’re absolutely certain. When you’re all done with that, you can enjoy your payment!” The guard handed him the small pouch, which turned out to be much heavier than Haurchefant had anticipated.

“Thank you, again.”

“Don’t keep your mother waiting, huh?” The guard smiled, and Haurchefant nodded and sped off towards the Jeweled Crozier.

 

 


	2. Part 2 - Haurchefant Age 8

Haurchefant glanced at the envelope, then up at the door and swallowed nervously. Certainly, he knew the Jeweled Crozier area well enough from shopping with his mother, and occasionally on his own when she was too ill to go on her own, but he had never heard of Burchard Drieu and wasn’t confident that he had found the correct location. But, the longer he waited and fidgeted the longer it would take for him to find a doctor for his mother, so he pushed the door open.

A portly Elezen awaited behind a counter, sifting through scattered paperwork. “Greetings, boy. What brings you here?”

“I bear a message from Count Fortemps for Burchard Drieu,” Haurchefant answered, holding out the letter.

“Ah, very well then. Set it there will you.” The man gestured, turning back to his paperwork.

Haurchefant frowned, clearing his throat. “I was given strict instructions that I shouldn’t leave until you’ve read it, sir.”

The man looked up over silver-rimmed glasses, eying Haurchefant skeptically. “Nobles and their incessant demands,” he grumbled, “very well then, hand it over.” Haurchefant obliged, fidgeting nervously as the man read the letter. After a moment that seemed much longer than it probably was, the man stood up and grabbed a heavy overcoat off a nearby coat rack. “Well, off we go then.” He said finally, pocketing the letter. He reached for a cane leaning against the counter, and grabbed a small yet heavy looking bag from below the coat rack.

“E-excuse me?” Haurchefant asked.

The man sighed impatiently. “You’re Haurchefant, correct? Son of Count Fortemps?”

Haurchefant nodded weakly. He knew very well that this was all common knowledge, but he also knew that it was generally unwise to openly admit to it.

“And your mother is in dire need of chirurgeon, correct?”

Realization dawned on him at last. “Y-you’re a doctor?” He stammered.

Burchard Drieu rolled his eyes. “The very best, if I do say so myself, and you’d best not try to argue if you know what’s good for you. Now, can we get on with this? I’d rather not have the Count breathing down my neck for not hurrying, you know.”

————————————————————————

Haurchefant paced the small kitchen impatiently. Sometimes he’d pause to sit down at the table to try to calm himself, but he found the pacing more effective. At least then he felt like he was doing something, instead of the reality of sitting helplessly outside a closed door waiting for the doctor to return from examining his mother.

Haurchefant slumped down at the table again, staring nervously at the small bag of gil he’d been given. Would it even be enough? The doctor had said he was the very best, though Haurchefant imagined all doctors would say the same. But the very best also usually demanded coin, typically more than Haurchefant or his mother could afford.

The door to the bedroom clicked open, and Haurchefant jumped up from his seat, nearly knocking the chair over in the process.

Burchard raised his eyebrows a bit. “Calm down a bit, would you? You’re so wound up you’re making _me_ tense.”

Haurchefant took a deep breath, but couldn’t bring himself to sit back down.

“Your mother will be fine. I gave her some medicine and instructions for how often to take it. Works best with tea, so if you’re of any use I expect you to provide that. She’s a bit weak yet to fend for herself.”

Haurchefant nodded. He knew his way around the kitchen, and tea was certainly not difficult to make, provided they had the funds for it. He reached for the coin bag from the table, wondering how much tea would cost in addition to the doctor’s fee. “Thank you, sir. I-I’m afraid I’m not sure how much to repay you.”

To his surprise, the man laughed, patting him on the head. “While I can’t say I wouldn’t appreciate a tip, I appreciate my head too much to take your coins, boy.”

Haurchefant frowned, feeling very much as though a joke was being made at his expense but not quite understanding it. “I’m sorry?” He asked, hoping for clarification.

The doctor pulled the letter back out from his coat pocket and handed it back to Haurchefant. “This includes strict orders from the Count that I’m not to take a single gil from you or your mother, regardless of how insistent you might be.”

Haurchefant examined the letter, but the writing was spidery and difficult to read, and the most that Haurchefant could glean from it was that his name was mentioned a few times.

The doctor picked up his cane, “Between you and me, that man has terrible penmanship, but if you ever get the chance to decipher it it might mean more to you than it would to me.”

“Ah, thank you.” Haurchefant said, slipping the letter back into the envelope. “For everything, I mean.”

The doctor laughed again, “Never a bad thing having one of the four houses owe you a favor or two. If you or your mother ever need a chirurgeon again, you know where to find me, eh? All bills forwarded to Count Fortemps, at his request.”

“Wait, next time?” Haurchefant’s brows furrowed.

“And the time after that, I expect. And so on. Pays to be consistent when it comes to one’s health, after all, though I am getting on in years. Don’t do anything stupid and I expect you’ll outlive me and need to find a new doctor one of these days.”

Haurchefant felt the tightness in his chest start to dissipate. A doctor. His mother had a doctor now. No worries about expenses or trying to find someone willing to come down to the lower levels of the city. No more praying to Halone that the illness would pass on its own. “Thank you.” He said, and the doctor smiled back to him as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I had some Edmont and Countess Fortemps chapters stuck in between these, but I'm not feeling like they're adding much at this point. I might come back to them, but for now I think we'll just stick with getting through the Haurchefant backstory before we wind up with some patch that makes all my theorizing useless.


	3. Part 3 - Haurchefant Age 8

The bag of coins seemed to haunt him, now.

Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to spend it. And it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. He attempted on numerous occasions to buy mother’s tea with it, but the vendor would hear none of it. His mother was well-liked in the markets, Haurchefant knew, but the amount of charity he was suddenly receiving felt almost like a burden, weighing him down. The coins seemed the start of it all.

He was grateful, surely. His mother was recovering, that was the part that mattered most. But he certainly didn’t feel like he’d contributed much to it.

His mother slipped into the chair across from him at the table, and peered at him curiously. “Something’s troubling you.”

Haurchefant pushed the bag across the table. “You should have this,” he said with finality.

His mother looked surprised, “dear, that’s yours. You earned it and you should keep it.”

Haurchefant’s brows knit together. “I didn’t _really_ earn it though,” he knew he was being childish, to be so agitated by being tricked into accepting help that he had already asked for, but it bothered him. “I wanted to use it to pay the doctor, but he wouldn’t take it. Then I tried to buy your tea, but he wouldn’t take it either.”

“I think that means you should try spending it on something for yourself.”

“All I wanted was for you to be well again.” Haurchefant said quietly. It was true. There really wasn’t anything left to spend it on.

His mother looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not sure what I did do deserve you,” she said, ruffling Haurchefant’s hair, “but very well then. I think I have an idea.” She picked up the coins and headed for the door.

“Wait here, dear, I’ll be back shortly.” She smiled, almost mischievously. Haurchefant gave her a puzzled look, but stayed.

It wasn’t very long before she returned, which he was thankful for. She took a small tin box with gold writing out of her satchel and placed it on the counter, and Haurchefant peered up at it.

“What is it?”

“Heavenly kukuru powder!” She announced, placing the other ingredients on the counter alongside it. Some of them looked familiar to Haurchefant, and he could think of other recipes his mother had used them in, but others were foreign to him. It all seemed expensive.

“What are you going to make?” He asked, watching her intently. He always tried to pay close attention when his mother cooked, so he could remember the recipes later when she was sick and he had to cook them himself.

“Hot chocolate.” She said happily, “It’s my specialty, but you’ve never had it before.”

Haurchefant nodded, he’d never heard of it before. “That little bag bought all of this?”

His mother laughed. “You didn’t even count it, did you?”

Haurchefant looked sheepish, he hadn’t, actually.

She ruffled his hair, “this should last us awhile, if we use it sparingly.” She carefully measured out some of the kukuru powder, as Haurchefant made a mental note of how much to use in the future.

At the end of it all, the two of them were back at the table, with two steaming cups of hot chocolate. His mother had forced him to wait, saying it needed a few minutes to cool before he could try it, and Haurchefant found himself more than a little impatient. Finally, his mother pressed her cup to her lips. “Ah, I think it should be fine now.”

Haurchefant hurriedly took a sip.

“Oh.” He mustered.

It was wonderful.

His mother burst out laughing at him and he flushed. “I mean, it’s very good!” He added hastily.

His mother waved her hands at him apologetically, trying to stifle her laughter. “That’s exactly how your father reacted the first time he tried it, too!”

Haurchefant looked back down at his cup, smiling slightly before taking another sip.


	4. Part 4 - Edmont Age 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 years later.

 

“All the arrangements have been made, as per your request.” Burchard said.

Edmont twisted the teacup in slow circles in his hand, “Thank you.” He said quietly.

“You’ll be there, then?”  
  
Edmont shook his head, “I haven’t the right, I think.”  
  
The doctor scoffed. “She was ill even when she worked for you, as I’m sure you recall. Even if you had kept her around, you couldn’t have changed things. You did all you could, and it’s a wonder she lasted as long as she did. She has you and the boy to thank for that.”  
  
Edmont buried his face in his hands. “Haurchefant…” he groaned.  
  
“Something should be done for him, yes.”  
  
“But what?” Edmont asked miserably.  
  
The doctor looked thoughtful. “He could study to be a chirurgeon. Halone knows he’s got the basics down by now, and he’s nothing if not hard working. He could have an aptitude for it.”  
  
Edmont looked up, “You’d train him?”  
  
“Seven hells no, I’m no teacher. The boy would probably murder me within a fortnight and I wouldn’t blame him a bit.”  
  
Edmont did not seem amused, and the doctor shrugged. “Forgive an old man for being honest. I do know some who could train him, and once he’s knowledgeable he’d certainly be welcome here. I could use the help.”  
  
Edmont turned the thought over in his mind. It could work. “Does he have any interest in that, though? Have you talked to him at all?”  
  
Burchard shook his head. “Boy hasn’t said a word to anyone since her last moments.”  
  
Guilt pulsed in Edmont’s chest. It ebbed and swelled throughout the years, but it had always been solid and omnipresent. This week it felt like it would finally engulf him.  
  
“You should go,” the doctor said finally, “Hang anyone who says you shouldn’t, you arranged all of this anyway.”  
  
“Selainne would have my head.” Edmont murmured. It was bad enough he’d made the arrangements. Selainne kept the books for the household, and Edmont hadn’t exactly spared many expenses on this. He also hadn’t mentioned it to her yet. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t find out until the bills arrived. If he was unlucky, well… he didn’t want to think about what could happen then.  
  
The doctor scowled. “Might I remind you that you created this situation for yourself, Count Fortemps.”  
  
Edmont glowered back, “I’m not sure I needed reminding, thank you.”  
  
“I can’t say I know much about marriage, as I certainly was careful to avoid it myself,” Burchard started, “but the way I see it you have a choice right now. You can continue to try to appease a woman who has spent twelve years demonstrating that she is incapable of forgiveness, or you can do right by a boy who’s done nothing to deserve the situation you brought him into.”  
  
Edmont looked back down at the cup. He wished things were that simple. Or maybe they were, and he was just too much of a coward to admit it.  
  
Burchard picked up his coat and cane. “I believe you’re a good man, Edmont de Fortemps. This is no longer a situation you can throw coins at and feel content that you’ve done your part. You want to know what this boy wants from his life? Perhaps it’s time for you to step up and ask him yourself.”  
  
The doctor departed, and Edmont sighed deeply, burying his face in his hands again.


	5. Part 5 - Haurchefant Age 12

_She deserved better.  
_  
Haurchefant tugged on his sleeve, but try as he might it was too short. He’d been growing faster lately, his mother’s weaving had been unable to keep up with him since the winter illness had taken hold of her again.   
Winter in Ishgard could be harsh, and annually with the first snows Haurchefant would watch his mother’s health decline steadily until the first signs of spring. Winter had lasted longer this year, and her illness had been harsher.  
  
He wasn’t sure how the arrangements had been made. He’d been deaf to the world since the doctor had told him the news. Somehow a whirlwind of things had been happening around him and he’d been less than useless for all of it.  
  
 _She deserved better._   
  
The thought had followed him incessantly, echoing through an empty home, settling in some corner of his mind and following alongside him even when he tried to escape.  
  
The cathedral had been reserved, a casket crafted, flowers arranged (lovely, but not her favorites. Even if the benefactor had known better, they were out of season and nigh impossible to obtain), a sermon delivered. He had his suspicions, but not enough care to dwell on them.  
  
Now it was his turn. Stiff legs carried him up to the podium. He looked down at the words, written and scratched out and rewritten by shaking hands, woefully inadequate despite his efforts, now crushed into illegibility through his tense fidgeting.   
  
_She deserved better._   
  
He discarded his meager offer, and words fell like heavy stones from his lips. He felt the weight of them, but heard none of their message, nor would he ever be able to recall it.   
Soon, he felt no more words could come, and he stepped back down. Many stood, crowding around him. He suspected they were talking to him, but their words failed to penetrate the overwhelming silence that had taken root in his head.  
In the distance he saw the door to the cathedral crack open, letting in a tall sliver of light, and Haurchefant thought he saw a shadow both familiar and distant slip away. He felt a sudden urge to bolt, to escape through the receding light of the doorway. To escape the claustrophobic crowd closing in around him.  
  
His feet stayed rooted to the spot, and the most he could do was nod repeatedly in hope of pacifying the press crowd of voices he failed to hear.

————

Haurchefant took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew what he needed to do now, it was just a matter of getting there. He walked quickly, before he could lose his nerve. As he turned onto the Last Vigil he froze momentarily, surprised to see a familiar   
figure leaning on the railing, gazing off the edge of the pathway.  
  
 _Well, this is what you came here for, isn’t it?_  
  
Haurchefant walked up behind the man.   
  
“Count Fortemps?” He asked, laboring to keep his voice steady.  
  
The man turned around, startled out of his reverie, “Haurchefant?”  
  
Haurchefant dropped to one knee, eyes fixed on the cobblestones below him. “I would like to pledge my services to the protection of House Fortemps, if you’ll have me.” He announced, keeping his head bowed.  
  
The Count sighed, “Haurchefant, stand up. “   
  
Panic gripped Haurchefant heart. Why wasn’t he answering? He bit his lip, unsure if he could look at the other man and keep the composure he’d labored so hard to muster. He’d already made a fool of himself in front of his father once, he didn’t intend to repeat it.  
  
“Please.” The Count added, and Haurchefant obeyed, careful to keep his eyes fixed on the ground.  
  
The older man put his hands on Haurchefant’s shoulders, “Gods you’ve grown.” He held Haurchefant’s chin gently, angling his face upward to examine it. Haurchefant looked back at him reluctantly, and was surprised to see his father’s eyes were almost as bloodshot as his own. “You look so much like your mother.” He continued, shifting his hand to graze through Haurchefant’s hair before turning away to glance back off into the distance.   
  
“You must think terribly of me.” He added solemnly.  
  
“N-no,” Haurchefant stammered, then cleared his throat. “Mother always spoke very highly of you.” He added.  
  
“She always did see the best in people.”   
  
“You were there today, weren’t you?” Haurchefant asked.  
  
The Count nodded, “If your brothers should ever demonstrate half the strength and eloquence you’ve shown today I would feel like I’ve done my job. Alas, I can’t take credit for you, but I’m incredibly proud of you just the same. Your mother would be, too.”   
  
Haurchefant frowned, not sure what strength his father could possibly be referring to. He certainly didn’t feel strong now, nor eloquent. “I don’t even remember what I said.”   
  
“It was quite nice. I suppose I’ll remember for both of us, then.”  
  
Haurchefant shifted impatiently. “Sir, about the question I asked earlier, you never…”  
  
His father interrupted him. “Haurchefant, is that truly what you want? To be a knight?”   
  
Haurchefant blinked back at the Count, “Yes sir.” He’d dreamed of being a knight for as long as he could remember, why else would he have asked?  
  
“It shall be done, then.” His father replied with finality, “but it won’t be easy.”   
  
Haurchefant nodded, he’d never imagined it would be, nor that the circumstances would be as they were now. But he had a starting point.  
  
Count Fortemps took a deep breath. “you should go gather your things, I’ll have a room prepared for you in the manor.”   
  
Haurchefant’s eyes lit up. “Really?”   
  
The older man smiled at him and nodded, and Haurchefant dashed off to his home in Foundation to pack.

It hadn’t taken long to gather his things, truth be told there wasn’t much in the two room home to take. Haurchefant had gathered a few trinkets and some old books his mother had brought him years before.   
  
The thought of never coming back was more difficult than leaving had been. His mother had brought life into the place, and in the week following her passing Haurchefant had plenty of time to realize that the feeling of comfort the place had brought him had left with her last breath.  
  
What was more difficult was acknowledging that it was never coming back.  
  
That she was never coming back.  
  
Haurchefant blinked back tears and closed the door, hurrying away to Last Vigil. 

——-

The guard lead Haurchefant into the manor. “Sorry, Count Fortemps is a little busy right now,” the guard said, giving him an apologetic look.   
  
“I will not tolerate that rodent in my house!” a voice screeched from somewhere in the manor.   
  
Haurchefant grimaced.  
  
“This isn’t negotiable, Selainne. Not this time.” The Count’s voice was raised as well, and seemed to be coming closer.  
  
“Ah, maybe you should... explore a bit…” the guard suggested, and Haurchefant nodded in agreement. “Good, I suggest going that way first.” The guard responded, forcibly turning Haurchefant by his shoulders to a door opposite the direction of the voices.  
  
Haurchefant hurried off, not wanting to get caught in the middle of the fighting. He remembered all too well how his last meeting with the Countess had gone, and he was not eager to repeat it, although it was starting to seem inevitable.   
  
He ventured from door to door, amazed at the enormity of the place, almost certain he was lost to the rest of the world forever. He hadn’t run into a single person, and it was starting to unnerve him. He pushed through another door, hidden in the corner of yet another empty dining area, and was startled to find himself facing a bustling kitchen.  
  
“M’lord I’m sorry but the—” A woman looked up from the vegetables she was preparing, “oh!”   
  
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Haurchefant stammered nervously, as the eyes of the cooking staff focused on him.  
  
“By the fury, Arscelin, look! It’s Estelle’s boy!” The woman tugged on the sleeve of a tall elezen standing next to her.   
  
“I can see that, Maunie.” The man rolled his eyes. He dusted his hands off on his apron, before walking around the counter to extend one to Haurchefant. “I’m Arscelin, the head chef.”   
  
Haurchefant shook the man’s hand. “Haurchefant, pleased to meet you.”   
  
“Aren’t you just the spitting image,” the woman said, crouching slightly to get a better look at him. “I’m Maunie, assistant chef.”   
  
Haurchefant nodded in greeting. “You knew my mother?”   
  
“Of course! She worked with us here in the kitchens, back before you were born.” Maunie smiled warmly, and Haurchefant felt more at ease. “Well, she was a maid first. She was prone to getting ill, you know. One day she fainted away right in front of the Count. Sent him all into a panic, you should have seen it.”   
  
“Maunie…” Arscelin grumbled.   
  
“Well, long story short, she got to move into the kitchens to work with us. Good thing, too. She had a real talent.”  
  
Haurchefant took a seat on a stool in the corner of the room. “Now it’s just the two of you?”   
  
Maunie nodded, “Well, when we’re just cooking for the family. Some of the other staff comes to help out for events.”   
  
Haurchefant nodded again, glancing around the room. It was significantly larger than the kitchen in his home. Which could be said for all things in the manor, he supposed.   
  
“Feel free to look around, if you’d like.” Arscelin said, going back to stirring a bubbling pot.   
  
“Of course, make yourself at home!” Maunie added, grabbing more vegetables out of a basket.  
  
Haurchefant slipped off the stool and looked around. Various spices lined the counters, and his eyes settled on a familiar tin. He felt a twinge in his chest. His mother had run out of that years ago.   
  
Maunie glanced at him, following his gaze to the counter. “Oh, the kukuru powder?”   
  
“Ah, yes, sorry,” Haurchefant stammered, coming back to reality. “I haven’t seen any in awhile.”   
  
Maunie smiled. “We have plenty, though to be honest we haven’t used it in awhile. We never could get the hot chocolate quite like your mother made it.”   
  
Haurchefant picked up the tin, brows furrowed. “Really?”   
  
Now Arscelin laughed. “Well, it’s not the easiest recipe, kid.”   
  
Haurchefant thought for a moment. “Would you mind if I…”   
  
Arscelin waved a hand. “Whatever you want, kid. You don’t seem like much of a troublemaker.”   
  
Haurchefant placed the kukuru powder back on the counter, and set to work searching for more ingredients.   
  



	6. Part 6 - Haurchefant Age 12

“Haurchefant?!”

Haurchefant jumped at the sound of his father’s voice and dropped the glass container of birch syrup, shattering it.  
  
“Everything’s fine, m’lord!” Arscelin interjected quickly.   
  
“We invited him in, we were just talking about Estelle and…” Maunie trailed off, biting her lip.  
  
Haurchefant had knelt down to try to gather the glass shards in his shaking hands. He knew he should stand up to face his father, but he hadn’t the courage. The man’s voice had been sharp to start with, and Haurchefant knew he likely hadn’t helped matters by making a mess all over the kitchen floor.  
  
 _What if the Countess won’t have me here? What if he’s changed his mind?_   
  
The thought made the shaking worse, his grip slipping on a shard of glass, cutting his finger.   
  
“A-ah,” The Count said, “no issues then?” his voice seemed more even now.   
  
Haurchefant pressed down on his the cut with his other hand, glad his father likely couldn’t see him now behind the counters.  
  
“He’s no trouble at all, really!” Maunie said brightly.  
  
“Helpful, actually.” Arscelin chimed in.  
  
Count Fortemps took a deep breath, “Very well, carry on then.” He exited the room, letting the door click softly behind him.  
  
The two chefs gave a unified sigh of relief.  
  
“Sorry about that, Artoirel used to come in and start nagging us rather frequently so the Count is used to having to drag his children out of the kitchen, I think. That boy never listens to us.” Arscelin explained.   
  
Maunie knelt down next to Haurchefant and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, dear, you don’t need to clean this up right now, we’ll get some other staff in to take care of it.” she helped the boy back up and gently took hold of his hand. “Arscelin, hand me the roll of gauze, would you?”   
  
“Sorry for making such a mess…” Haurchefant said as the woman wrapped the gauze deftly around the cut on his finger.   
  
Maunie smiled, holding up her hand to show Haurchefant a matching thin strip of gauze around one of her thumbs. “Happens all the time. Work related hazard.”   
  
Haurchefant smiled weakly and Arscelin rolled his eyes. “She’s the hazard.”  
  
Maunie shot him a glare before turning to a cupboard. After rifling through its contents she revealed an identical container of birch syrup, which she handed over to Haurchefant.   
  
“First rule of a well-stocked kitchen is to always have extra!” She said triumphantly, “especially when your lord can afford it.”


	7. Part 7 - Edmont Age 40

Edmont slumped down into a chair at the table in the small dining area closest to the kitchen and buried his face in his hands for what felt like the millionth time that day. Arguing with Selainne had taken its toll on him, building up tension and causing him to snap at the precise moment he desperately needed not to.   
  
So much for making his son feel welcome. Now the boy was hiding from him.  
  
Edmont had always thought of himself as a competent parent. Any failings with Artoirel he thought of as the result of Selainne incessant doting on the boy, which seemed to undermine many of Edmont’s own best efforts to instill responsibility in his eldest son.   
  
Haurchefant had seemed like a small chip in his reasoning. Surely the boy was better off left alone with his mother. Surely Edmont’s occasional financial support had shown his generosity and competence in providing for his children.  
  
The doctor’s words had turned a small chip into a crack. A crack that had spread and splintered throughout the day and now Edmont was forced to consider the possibility that not only was he no paragon of parental talent but he may be wholly, irrevocably, unfit for the task. He struggled to even fathom a single reason why Haurchefant should want anything to do with him.  
  
The door to the kitchen clicked open and Edmont was snapped out of his melancholy.  
  
Haurchefant slipped into the room, carrying two mugs of steaming liquid. The boy glanced around nervously. “I hope I’m not intruding…”  
  
Edmont gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Such an intrusion would be most welcome.”   
  
Haurchefant settled into the chair and pushed one of the mugs across the table to Edmont. Haurchefant held his own mug in both hands, sipping it carefully.  
  
Edmont picked up his own mug, grateful for the excuse to save himself from his own awkward attempts at conversation. He took a sip.  
  
“Oh,” he said, surprised by the nostalgic flavor. “You made this?”  
  
Haurchefant nodded, “Mother often said that food can convey messages that words fail to express.”   
  
Edmont contemplated those words and took another drink from the mug. “In spite of all my education and status, your mother has always managed to demonstrate far greater wisdom.”  
  
Haurchefant smiled into his cup.  
  
“I’m sorry for startling you earlier.” Edmont said.  
  
Haurchefant shook his head. “Maunie and Arscelin explained a bit.”  
  
Edmont wasn’t certain how the kitchen staff could have helped him, but he made a mental note to thank them for it. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another door clicking open, this time to the main hallway.  
  
“How convenient to find the two of you together!” The Countess entered, a supercilious smile plastered upon her lips.  
  
Edmont stood up, “Selainne…” his tone was warning.  
  
“Oh, calm now, husband. You’ve made your position on this matter quite clear. I’m merely here to propose a compromise.”   
  
Edmont glowered back at her.  
  
“The boy stays, you’ve made that quite clear. However, I feel that if he is truly here in service to our house, as you have reassured me, then it would be most appropriate for him to stay in the servant’s quarters, don’t you agree?”   
  
“No. I don’t agree.” Edmont said, fighting to keep his voice even.  
  
“Am I not an even partner in this marriage, Edmont? Does my comfort not warrant a fair compromise?”  
  
“Your _comfort?!_ ” Edmont snarled.  
  
“It’s fine.” Haurchefant’s voice interrupted. Edmont turned to see his son staring resolutely into an empty mug.  
  
“Haurchefant, you don’t need to—“ Edmont started, but was quickly interrupted.  
  
“How wonderful, the boy sees reason! And besides, I imagine such an arrangement would be far more comfortable for him, considering where he comes from.” Selainne’s eyes glimmered victoriously.  
  
Edmont felt trapped. To continue arguing would only serve to upset Haurchefant further, to give up would legitimize his wife’s desire to ostracize Haurchefant from his family. He glanced back to his son.  
  
“She’s right. It’s fine.” The boy repeated.   
  
Edmont made a frustrated noise. “Fine.”  
  
“Very good. I’ll let the servants know to prepare a room, it has been such a long day after all. I think we’re all quite tired of it.” Selainne sauntered off, smirk still firmly in place.  
  
“You didn’t need to do that,” Edmont sighed, once he felt confident his wife was at a safe distance.  
  
“She was right,” Haurchefant repeated, “it’s better this way.”  
  
Edmont slumped back into the chair, retrieving his mug of hot chocolate, clutching it as the last symbolic totem of his patience. “If you ever change your mind… for any reason, Haurchefant, let me know.”   
  
Haurchefant made a noncommittal noise, picking up his empty mug and disappearing back into the kitchen.


	8. Part 8 - Haurchefant Age 12

Darkness had descended upon Ishgard, forcing the manor servants to light the lamps that adorned the walls. The flickering candles cast ghostly shadows upon the ornate wallpaper, mingling with the designs to create figures both entrancing and grotesque.   
  
Haurchefant stood transfixed, gazing into the twitching shadows of the hallway. He’d wandered the house for hours now, but it had only become more overwhelming with time.  
  
“Why there you are!” The cloyingly sweet voice made him jump.  
  
Haurchefant glanced frantically around him, searching for anyone or anything else to turn to aside from the Countess. Finding nothing, he turned to her and nodded, keeping his eyes downcast to avoid her emerald gaze.   
  
“You’ve been quite difficult to locate. It’s gotten late and someone must show you to your room, you’ve no chance of finding it on your own,” she was still smiling, the forced tightness of her lips cast with the shadows and made her seem almost draconic. “You’re going quite the wrong way.”  
  
Haurchefant murmured half-hearted words of apology.  
  
“Tell me, what was your name again?”   
  
“Haurchefant.” He answered.  
  
The Countess gave a dismissive shake of her head. “Not that name. Your proper name. I generally pride myself on not keeping such company, as such I’ve never cared to remember it.”  
  
A lump formed in Haurchefant’s throat and he suddenly found himself very aware of the cold. He knew the name she spoke of, of course. It clung to him like a sickness in itself, spoken in hushed whispers as he walked past. He could accept that he could never bear his father’s name, for propriety’s sake, but he could never understand why his mother’s name should be held from him as well. She had no property, no status, nothing in her name that he could tarnish more than he had already, without even her name.  
  
“Something about stones, wasn’t it?” The Countess pressed.  
  
Haurchefant wanted to scream. His hands balled into fists, nails digging mercilessly into his palms and even that was a poor distraction from the rising pain in his chest. “Please…” the word was choked, escaping despite his best efforts.  
  
“Greystone! That was it.” Selainne exclaimed, clearly proud of managing to call upon knowledge so far beneath her.  
  
Haurchefant was frozen, bile rising in his throat.  
  
“Oh, come now,” she cooed, though it was anything but soothing, “you must feel terribly alone, after suffering such a loss.”  
  
Haurchefant could respond with nothing but a weak nod.  
  
The Countess looked satisfied, “A name serves to remind us of our families. Be comforted, boy, that you should be surrounded by so many.”  
  
Haurchefant looked up, casting the woman a confused look.  
  
“It seems to me that the closest family you have left are the pebbles I crush beneath my heel.”  
  
Haurchefant felt the blood rise back to his face, burning with a fury heretofore unknown to him. He wanted to lunge at this grotesque and treacherous woman, to gouge out her haughty, glimmering eyes.   
  
He bolted past her before he could lose himself completely.  
  
“Praise be to Halone that there should be so many of them, you’ve no need to worry of loneliness!” She laughed, and the echo seemed to follow him even as he ran past the guard outside the main door and hurtled himself against the stone wall overlooking the lower levels of the city.  
  
Tears burned his eyes, but even then his vision was filled with stones. He lashed out, screaming, pounding his fists desperately against the wall, the mocking cobblestones. He wanted to level the city, stone by stone until there was nothing left to belittle him, no walls left to separate him from everyone else.   
  
His fists came out of the assault raw and bleeding, his knuckles skinned and oozing. The stones remained, unyielding, uninjured. He dug his nails into the tiny cracks around them, pulling and prying desperately. His nails came out snapped and cracked, covered in dirt and blood.  
  
The stones remained unbroken, and Haurchefant desperately wished that he could have that one thing in common with them beside his name.  
  
He collapsed back against the wall and let himself be overcome with sobbing wails.


	9. Part 9 - Edmont Age 40

The manor was immaculate, the décor far grander than usual. Servants buzzed about, arranging this, delivering that, polishing something else. Indeed, not a single thing was out of its designated place.

_Including my children._ Edmont thought, taking a bitter sip of wine. It had been months since Haurchefant’s first night at the manor, the night when Edmont had been alerted by his night watchman that the boy had fled, and a panicked Edmont had found him collapsed, sobbing and bloodied on the cobblestones. The boy refused to explain the cause of his anguish, and so Edmont was left to carry his son back to his bed, sloppily bandage the boy’s hands, and spend a night silently hoping that time would make matters easier on all of them.  
  
He suspected his wife had been involved, in much the same way she was involved in the boy’s absence tonight, though she was quick to dismiss the incident as the childish outburst of a baseborn boy.  
  
In the months that had followed, Haurchefant had settled into his own routines, which to Edmont’s dismay typically included storming out of the manor at the first sign of conflict with the Countess. Tonight, Edmont was of half a mind to join him.  
  
“Edmont!” Selainne swept by, “the party’s not even started yet!” Edmont’s wine glass was swept away with her.  
  
_That was the point._ Edmont thought.  
  
Parties were a necessity among the higher houses, but Edmont held no love for such grandiose affairs. There was once a time when the Countess had shared a similar distaste for such things, but those times felt far off now, yet another tribute to the distance that had grown between them over the course of their marriage.  
  
The guests were filing in now and Selainne was busily seeing to all the duties of hosting such events, with Artoirel close at hand. Edmont supposed he could at least be grateful that perhaps one day Artoirel might be able to fully take his place as host without the entirety of Ishgard’s noble class thinking something amiss.  
  
Edmont snagged a new glass of wine off a tray as one of the servants scurried by and downed it unceremoniously before stepping into the main hall to start exchanging pleasantries as required by his station.

———

The night seemed to drag on far longer than Edmont had patience for. He had managed to corner himself too far from the serving stations to refill his wine glass, and despite his best efforts he found himself quite unable to move even an inch before being captured by another guest. He struggled through small talk and conversations on topics he had little empathy toward (or, more frequently, ones where he found his scale of empathy tipping closer to the subject of his conversation partner’s complaints).  
  
“Edmont!”  
  
He turned towards the voice, “Baurendouin!” Edmont gave an apologetic nod to his current conversation partner, a man of lesser nobility who was apparently quite upset with his maid over some sort of nonsense that Edmont had not been paying any attention to. Thankfully, the man bowed out graciously and made way for Edmont to approach his new guest.  
  
“You look dry, Edmont,” Count Haillenarte shoved a glass of wine in Edmont’s direction, which he accepted gratefully.  
  
“You’ve met my youngest, Francel.”  
  
The boy introduced himself with the greatest of attention to etiquette, though Edmont was not too far into his cups to fail to observe that the boy clearly found little joy in such rituals. Edmont returned the pleasantries before turning back to his friend.  
  
“Finally you find me,” Edmont said, “You’ll not believe the conversations I’ve endured this night.”  
  
Count Haillenarte laughed, clasping Edmont’s shoulder. Edmont suspected his own sobriety could be blamed on his friend’s lack thereof (or at least, Count Haillenarte would likely be the only guest to find humor in such an accusation). All the servant’s trays that had passed this torturous corner for the past hour had been quite barren, and Edmont needed someone to blame for this terrible oversight.  
  
Edmont told him as such.  
  
“I brought you a glass, didn’t I?” Baurendouin responded. Francel tugged gently on his father’s sleeve, requesting some time to rest before making more rounds of introductions. Count Haillenarte acquiesced, now taking hold of Edmont instead.  
  
“Come along then, we’ll find you another yet.”  
  
Edmont allowed himself to be dragged along, gratefully waving off other potential conversations as he was clearly quite busy dealing with Count Haillenarte and entirely helpless in preventing himself from being guided to the refreshments.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is meant to be a counterpart to events from Vows Unbroken, one of the Tales of the Dragonsong War stories posted on the official site. I had started plotting out this fic before they released that one but I was silently hoping that it could give me more to work with. Thankfully it did, and clarified a lot of things I was having issues with. 
> 
> Also, apologies for taking a bit more time to post a new chapter (especially since this one is even shorter than usual). I have a few more in the works, but I've been writing this out of order for months now so we haven't quite gotten to some of the other parts that are finished. Also trying to speed through the mch quest line since we'll be seeing more of the Haillenartes from now on.


	10. Part 10 - Francel Age 6

Francel had settled into a new nightly routine. He would retire to his room, settle down to read a book, and then promptly be interrupted by shouting leaking in through his window facing the Fortemps manor. Tonight was no exception.

Francel put the book aside and pulled on his boots. His tutor would be cross with him tomorrow, but thankfully his father seemed to somewhat approve of his friendship with Haurchefant. He suspected this was due to many of the same reasons his tutor did not.

He padded downstairs to the sound of frantic knocking echoing through the halls. 

“You ought to be more patient,” Francel said when he opened the door, “Laniaitte already has half a mind to take a sword to you just for some peace and quiet. One night she’ll beat me down here.” 

Haurchefant’s expression softened a bit. “Good, I could use a decent opponent to practice with. I tried to practice with Artoirel but he went whining to the Countess ‘cause I bruised his fingers.” His expression quickly darkened again, and Francel suspected this incident may be what incited today’s argument.

“Laniaitte could do him worse, I think.” Francel said thoughtfully.

“Only a poor knight whines over bruises.” Haurchefant said, “tell her to come over sometime so I can watch her pummel him. You’re all noble so the Countess couldn’t whine about being uncivilized then.” Haurchefant turned heel and Francel followed close behind.

“Where are we off to tonight?” Francel asked. He hoped not Coerthas. They’d ventured out into the forest a fortnight ago and gotten irrevocably lost until some of their fathers’ knights had happened to stumble upon them the next morning. Francel had never been so terrified, and he’d never seen his father or Count Fortemps so angry. He hoped never to experience that again.

If you heard Haurchefant tell the tale it all sounded far more grandiose and exciting than it had felt. He even sounded so sincere about it that Francel was left to wonder what it was like, being Haurchefant and acting upon terrible, irresponsible ideas and then experiencing the results so  _ differently _ from everyone else involved in them.

“To see my chocobo!” Haurchefant said excitedly.

“You have a chocobo?!” This was news to Francel, which surprised him. Haurchefant was fairly awful at keeping secrets, especially ones he could show off.

“Well… it’s not  _ really _ mine. But I was there when it hatched so that should count for something.” Haurchefant responded. 

Francel wasn’t certain that it should count for anything as far as ownership was concerned, but he had never seen a chocobo hatch and he certainly didn’t own one, so who was he to question Haurchefant’s logic regarding these matters?

They made their way to the Holy Stables, where Haurchefant erupted into his usual boisterous greetings. Haurchefant had a way with these matters, he always greeted everyone he knew (and liked, which was an important distinction) individually by name, along with a plethora of personalized queries and comments. The proper way of greeting seemed much simpler in comparison to Francel, and even that was overwhelming for him. Thankfully Haurchefant saw fit to take care of all the introductions himself, leaving Francel with the relatively manageable task of smiling and nodding as necessary.

The pleasantries finally aside, Haurchefant led Francel out to the chocobo stables. 

“How did you come to know everyone here…?” Francel wondered aloud. It felt a foolish question, it seemed as though Haurchefant knew everyone and that was simply the way of things.

Haurchefant looked sheepish for a moment. “I started helping out with things awhile ago. Needed somewhere to go during the day when you’re busy with your studies and the Countess gets angry with me.”

“Oh,” Francel suddenly felt particularly stupid. He had never even really thought about why Haurchefant never showed up during the days he worked with his tutor. 

Haurchefant scooped something up and spun around to face Francel. 

“Meet my chocobo!” He announced, holding a rather scrawny yellow chocobo chick.

Francel had never seen a chocobo chick before, but suddenly he had an overwhelming desire to own several. He reached out and took the bird from his friend and cradled it gently against his chest. 

“Does it have a name?” He asked.

“Of course it does!” Haurchefant responded.

Francel stared at him expectantly, but received no further response. “What is it, then?” He pressed.

Haurchefant failed his arms dramatically, “Something splendid! Only the finest and most grand of all chocobo names!” 

Francel felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t thought of one yet, have you?” 

Haurchefant’s posture deflated. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, you know.” He replied petulantly.

Francel laughed. “Why not Flavien?”

Haurchefant’s brows furrowed. “Flavien?” He asked.

“Surely you know—“

“Of course I know,” Haurchefant snapped.

Francel let out a sigh of relief, it would be poor form even for Haurchefant to not recognize the name of the founder of house Fortemps. “When I read about him  he reminds me of you.” 

Haurchefant looked disarmed by this. “Really?” 

“Well you _are_ related to him,” Francel wasn’t sure why this seemed so surprising, “I suppose Artoirel is as well, but his personality seems more similar to yours.” 

This clarification seemed to cheer Haurchefant considerably. He reached out and grabbed the chocobo chick, holding in high in the air, “Flavien it is!” He announced triumphantly. 

“Quite grand.” Francel commented, and Haurchefant beamed back at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could probably write a billion chapters of tiny Haurchefant and Francel being stupid adorable but I should probably endeavor to restrain myself or I'll never get to post the chapters I've already got where they're older. But I wanted to get some Haurchefant and his chocobo obsession in so here we go.


	11. Part 11 - Francel Age 7

It was a tourney day. This particular style of tournament was one of Haurchefant’s favorites, where individual knights could face off against each other to demonstrate their skills. The tourney was open to highborn and low born alike, and victorious lords secured prestige and honor for their house, victorious peasants secured the attention of the noble houses and the Holy See, giving way for the potential of improving their standing in society.   
  
As much as Haurchefant clearly enjoyed rooting for the representatives of House Fortemps and Haillenarte, Francel suspected he reveled more in the victories of the commoners. Francel did not fault him for it, all things considered.  
  
The crowd was stifling, and Francel found he could barely see through the pressing throng of people, but there was clearly no getting closer. Two knights were seated high atop their chocobos, as squires handed them their lances and shields. Francel stood on tip toe to get a better look.   
  
“Your house?” He asked, catching a glimpse of what looked like the familiar red unicorn on black.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Haurchefant responded, “Against Durendaire.”   
  
Francel nodded. He appreciated when the tourney match ups made it easy for him to pick a side to cheer for. There were times when Haillenarte and Fortemps wound up competing against each other early on and, while it was all in good fun, he preferred when one of their houses could get revenge on the opponent who felled the other. It made losing easier to cope with, when it came down to it.  
  
The two knights moved to their respective positions, lances raised. Their chocobos surged forward. The Durendaire knight aimed a blow to his opponent’s shoulder, but the Fortemps knight leaned to the side, dodging the hit completely. His own lance glanced off the Durendaire shield.  
  
The knights guided their chocobos around for another round, charging again. This time their lances hit their marks, the Durendaire’s hitting the Fortemps knight in the chest, knocking him to the ground while his lance slammed into the Durendaire knight’s shield, erupting into a shower of splinters.   
  
Haurchefant groaned and Francel patted his shoulder in an attempt to ease the disappointment. The Fortemps knight was back on his feet, sword drawn, so there was still a chance.   
  
The Durendaire knight tossed his ruined shield and lance, then drew his sword. His chocobo rushed at the Fortemps knight, who blocked the sword blow by raising his shield upward, shoving it up at the Durendaire knight, who lost balance and slipped off the bird, landing heavily on his back.   
  
Haurchefant was screaming a nearly unintelligible string of _“Gethimgethimgethim!”_  
  
Durendaire scrambled to reach his lost sword, but the Fortemps knight was upon him in a flash, blade pressed to his opponent’s throat. The Durendaire knight yielded, and Fortemps was declared the victor.   
  
Haurchefant nearly crushed Francel in a hug so tight it left the younger boy gasping for air.  
  
“Oh, Dzemael’s next.” Haurchefant said, releasing Francel.   
  
“Against who?”Francel asked, on tip toe to get a better look again.  
  
“Looks to be a commoner. Hope he crushes those stuck-up—“  
  
“ _Haurchefant!_ ” Francel interrupted. It wasn’t that he didn’t share Haurchefant’s distaste for house Dzemael, but it was best to watch one’s comments, especially in such a large crowd. They’d had enough run-ins with the younger members of House Dzemael, Francel wanted to avoid another.  
  
The two chocobos charged.  
  
“His lance is too low…” Haurchefant murmured, his eyebrows knit in concern. Francel turned his attention to the Dzemael knight. His lance did seem to be angled differently than Francel was accustomed to seeing.  
  
The two knights hit. The low-born knight’s chocobo screeched, it’s breast pierced by the Dzemael lance in a flurry of blood and feathers. The knight slid off the bird, his leg tangled in the stirrup as the chocobo collapsed on top of him, flailing in pain. Other knights and staff rushed out to try to calm the bird and pry the knight free, but it kept kicking and flailing and none could reach him. The entire crowd was silent in shock.  
  
“He did that on purpose.” Haurchefant growled, fists clenched at his sides.  
  
Francel flinched away from the sight, turning his gaze to the ground. “We should go…” He murmured.  
  
He looked up, and suddenly Haurchefant was nowhere to be seen. “Haurchefant?!” He exclaimed. He turned back to the arena, only to see Haurchefant shoving his way forward through the crowd.  
  
 _Oh no…_  
  
Francel pressed forward after him, but was too far behind, unable to clear a path through the other spectators. He saw Haurchefant climb atop the railing overlooking the proving grounds and then fall away from view.  
Francel let out a cry, reaching out and pulling himself to the railing. He looked down, and thankfully Haurchefant was on his feet in the arena below, uninjured. Francel looked about frantically for some way to reach him without jumping, but there was none nearby.   
  
_It was miracle enough that he didn’t hurt himself, there’s no way you could follow._ Francel made a frustrated noise.   
  
Haurchefant marched across the arena, towards the screaming chocobo and knight. Francel clutched the railing.   
  
_I need to go tell Count Fortemps_ , he thought desperately, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot. If he was lucky, Haurchefant wouldn’t get himself killed, and wouldn’t be recognized and potentially cause conflict for House Fortemps.  
  
“Is that the Fortemps bastard? What in Halone’s name is he trying to do?” A woman nearby murmured.  
  
Francel’s heart sank. _So much for luck._  
  
Haurchefant had reached the ailing chocobo, his hands raised as he tried to creep close enough to it. The bird beat at him with its wings, but Haurchefant was able to bear the brunt of the blows and kneel down next to it. He tore the sleeve off his tunic and rested a hand against the bird’s beak. The bird calmed enough that the other knights were able to run in and free the man trapped beneath it, dragging him out of the arena.   
  
Haurchefant pulled the shard of lance from the bird’s wound, and pressed his tattered sleeve against it.   
  
“I see the bastard of Fortemps has a bright future farming chocobos!” The Dzemael knight called out.   
  
Haurchefant stood, spinning to face the knight. “ _Coward!_ ” He roared back.  
  
Francel flinched, he’d never heard Haurchefant sound so furious, even after his worst encounters with the Countess.  
  
The Dzemael knight cackled, “Watch your tongue boy, or you might lose it!” He waved his sword with a flourish, turning a cocky sneer towards the crowd.   
  
Haurchefant must have responded, for the knight’s head turned suddenly back to him, but Francel could not hear what it was he said over the renewed murmuring of the crowd around him.   
  
The knight spurred his chocobo onward, charging at Haurchefant. The boy rolled away just as the knight’s sword came down, and Francel drew a momentary breath of relief before he noticed his friend was clutching his arm when he stood back up.   
He’s hurt, Francel thought in panic, he’s hurt, but he’s still alive. His knuckles were white from his death grip on the railing, and he silently prayed to Halone that someone would stop this before it went any further.  
The knight had back Haurchefant into a corner now, and he swung his sword. Francel flinched again.  
  
“Enough!” A voice roared over the crowd.  
  
Francel opened his eyes. The knight had his blade pressed to Haurchefant’s neck. Haurchefant glared back at him defiantly, unflinching. Francel looked around, trying to find the owner of the voice.   
  
Count Fortemps stepped into the arena, accompanied by his guards.  
  
The knight scowled, but sheathed his sword in one fluid motion, releasing Haurchefant to his father.  
  
Francel finally released his death grip on the railing, heaving a heavy sigh of relief before bolting back through the crowd.  
  
He managed to catch up with them on the steps outside the proving grounds. “Haurchefant!”   
  
The boy turned back to him, just in time for Francel to throw his arms around his neck in a tight embrace.   
  
“Francel!” Haurchefant stammered back, as Francel burst into sobs.  
  
“You could have been killed!” Francel cried, beating Haurchefant’s chest with his fists. His friend smelled like blood and that only made everything worse. “You idiot!” He sobbed, hitting him again for good measure, but also refusing to let go.  
  
“I-I’m sorry,” Haurchefant stammered stiffly, looking crestfallen. Francel could only hit him again in response.  
  
Suddenly remembering the Count, Francel shoved himself away from his friend, rubbing his eyes furiously and doing his best to stand up straight and smooth out his clothes, which had managed to soak up some of the bloodstains from Haurchefant's own. “C-Count Fortemps, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“   
  
The Count placed his hand on Francel’s shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look. It calmed him slightly, and he took a deep, albeit shaky breath.  
  
“Considering the situation, I think that was entirely warranted,” Count Fortemps shot a sharp look to Haurchefant, who wilted under the gaze, ears burning red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have written the chocobo fluff chapter almost solely because I'd already planned to kill one off. On the upside, at least I can say it's not the same chocobo.


	12. Part 12 - Haurchefant Age 13

His father had been silent the entire trip home and the moments since. Francel had been similarly silent, aside from sniffling intermittently. Haurchefant tried to be annoyed by it, but he could only muster an overwhelming feeling of guilt instead.  
  
Bathing and changing into fresh clothing had done little to lift his spirits. Even without the red-stained tunic he could still smell the phantom scent of blood.   
  
His father had seen to tending his cuts personally. The gash on his arm was deeper, but would heal in due time and only required a thick bandage. The cut on his neck was more shallow, the hair-thin line and small trickle of blood a testament to the sharpness of a blade that could have done far worse. Count Fortemps insisted on disinfecting that one as well, and the alcohol stung far worse than the cut had to begin with. He bandaged it also, though Haurchefant felt that was especially unnecessary.  
  
His father examined his work for a moment, then exhaled deeply. “You did a foolish thing today.” He said finally.  
  
Haurchefant’s cheeks burned. “Someone needed to do something.” He muttered irritably.  
  
“And what, pray tell, did you achieve with your actions today?”   
  
Haurchefant couldn’t find any words to answer, so he stared resolutely downward instead .  
  
After a moment, the Count seemed to accept that Haurchefant had chosen to remain silent. “I believe that knight should recover, that’s one thing at least,” he sighed, “Perhaps you should have been content to stop there.”   
  
Haurchefant scowled. “There’s no honor in attacking a chocobo. He’s a coward.”   
  
“I don’t disagree with that,” his father responded, “but there is a fine line between justice and foolishness. You would do well to learn that.”  
  
“It needed to be said.” Haurchefant grumbled. “No true knight would do such a thing.”  
  
“The measure of a knight has little to do with his actions in tourneys and much more to do with his actions in war.” Edmont sighed, “Fortunately for you, dragons do not ride chocobos, so that is a point of honor that will be simple for you to live up to. But you should remember that anyone or anything that follows you into battle can become a target for your enemy.”   
  
Haurchefant’s frown deepened.  
  
“What would you have done if Francel had attempted to follow you today?”  
  
Haurchefant looked up, “I would have protected him.”  
  
Edmont shook his head, “You would have tried, I have no doubts of that. But if he even had only demonstrated an amount of common sense equal to what your own I suspect that you would have both managed to get yourselves killed long before I was able to intervene. Fortunately for us both, despite being six years your junior, he managed to demonstrate a far greater understanding of the potential consequences of his actions than you did.”  
  
Haurchefant wilted again, his fingers fiddled guiltily with the hem of his shirt. “I-If something had happened to me, what would you have done?” He whispered.  
  
“I don’t give you this advice because I find it easy, Haurchefant. I give it to you precisely because I think this is one of the most difficult things I’ve had to learn, and in the process of doing so I’ve caused a great amount of pain to many people I care about deeply.” He took a deep breath, “If something had happened to you today, I don’t think I would have had much thought for the consequences of my own actions. Which, I think, is why it is so important to consider that your own actions can have long lasting effects on those who care about you, as well.”  
  
Haurchefant felt the threat of tears stinging his eyes. “I’m sorry.”  
  
His father pulled him into an embrace, burying his face in Haurchefant’s hair. “You’re safe, that’s what matters.”  
  
The door opened with a soft click.  
  
“Pardon the intrusion,” The Countess smiled sweetly, “but Inquisitor Sidibont has arrived to discuss matters regarding today’s spectacle.” Her eyes settled on Haurchefant, “Of course, I’d be glad to settle matters myself if you prefer.”  
  
Haurchefant felt his stomach rise up into his throat.  
  
Edmont stood, and glowered at her, “You’ll do no such thing.”  
  
“As you wish.” The Countess responded absently.  
  
Edmont turned back to Haurchefant, “I’ll take care of this.”  
  
“Father I—“ Haurchefant rose to follow.  
  
“Stay. Here.” The Count said sharply, before exiting the room.  
  
Haurchefant slumped back down onto his bed.  
  
“Well,” The Countess started, “if your goal is to fully disgrace House Fortemps, carry on. You’ll make short work of us yet.”   
  
Haurchefant flinched as though he had been struck.  
  
“Selainne, I’ve no patience for this. Enough.” His father’s voice echoed through the hallway.  
  
The Countess gave Haurchefant one last venomous smile before slipping away.

The lump of terror that had risen in his gut had done little to dissipate, even days after his father had reported vaguely that matters were settled with the Inquisition and there was naught left to worry over, short of staying away from House Dzemael.  
Haurchefant hadn’t heard from Francel at all following the incident, and even on Haurchefant’s first venture outside since he found he hadn’t the nerve to so much as inquire with the Haillenarte guard.   
  
Haurchefant buried his face in his hands. He’d hoped that some fresher air would calm his nerves, but it seemed not to help.  
  
“Well, this is convenient.” A voice said.  
  
Haurchefant stood reflexively. “Stephanivien?”   
  
The blow struck him hard in the arm. Haurchefant let out a surprised cry of pain and staggered from the impact.  
  
“Wh-what was that—“  
  
“Well, the way we see it, this is at least the second time you’ve dragged Francel into some foolish endeavor and nearly gotten yourselves killed, so something needed to be done about it.”  
  
Haurchefant wanted to argue that this time Francel, clearly infinitely more intelligent than himself, had been in no real danger but he thought better of it and held his tongue.  
  
Stephanivien made himself comfortable on the bench. “Laniaitte wanted to beat the tar out of you, but the way I see it that would probably only upset Francel even more and then our fathers would probably get involved and that would just make a bigger mess of things. Chlodebaimt wanted to do the honorable thing, what in seven hells that means I don’t rightly know. I probably wasn’t paying attention.”   
  
Haurchefant blinked incredulously at him, finding no appropriate response.  
  
“It’s a sibling thing, I’m sure you understand. Issues like this have to be dealt with collectively,” Stephanivien explained.  
  
Haurchefant didn’t understand at all. He and Artoirel would just as soon kill each other, and Emmanellain was younger than even Francel. Haurchefant liked him well enough, but what little time he spent with him was swiftly interrupted by the Countess.   
Instead of attempting to explain this, he opted to nod.  
  
Stephanivien nodded back, seemingly satisfied with Haurchefant’s lack of proper response. “That settles it, then. You go make a big show about how you learned your lesson, I’ll go back and say I gave you a proper beating, and everyone can shut up about   
the whole mess so I can go back to my own business.”   
  
“I think I’d learned my lesson before you hit me.” Haurchefant muttered, rubbing his arm.  
  
“Excellent!” Stephanivien exclaimed, clapping Haurchefant on the shoulder and eliciting another wince, “It will be easy to sound sincere about it, then!”


	13. Part 13 - Francel Age 7

The relief Francel had felt when Haurchefant had appeared on their doorstep again seemed almost tangible. Haurchefant’s head was hung sadly downward and his murmured apology almost inaudible, but after listening to Stephanivien’s gloating over the beating he’d given him Francel was afraid his friend had been chased off for good. Haurchefant had reassured him that it hadn’t been so bad as that, and that he was truly sorry for scaring him so, and Francel had been content.  
  
“Whatever made you think it was a good idea to challenge that knight?” Francel asked finally, after they’d settled into their usual spots in the gazebo next to Fortemps Manor.  
  
Haurchefant shrugged, “I didn’t realize people would care so much, I guess.” He murmured.  
  
“You truly are an idiot.” Francel sighed.  
  
“So everyone keeps saying. You’ll notice I’ve not denied it.” Haurchefant grumbled.  
  
“It bears repeating.”   
  
“I’m not sure it does.” Haurchefant shot back.  
  
“Idiot.” Francel said amicably.   
  
Haurchefant heaved a long-suffering sigh and gazed out over the wall. “Are you quite finished?”  
  
Francel laughed, “That was the last time, I promise.”   
  
“Well, if it isn’t Haillenarte and his loyal hound.” A drawling voice interrupted.  
  
Haurchefant shot to his feet, “Dzemael.” He snarled.  
  
Francel touched Haurchefant’s arm, “Haurchefant don’t…” he whispered.  
  
“So eager to humiliate yourself again, dog?” The boy grinned.  
  
Haurchefant lunged forward, but Francel tightened his grasp on his arm and held him back.   
  
“It seems your master’s shortened your leash!”   
  
Francel could feel Haurchefant’s muscles tense beneath his grip, “Haurchefant, it’s not worth it.” He pleaded.  
  
“It will be when I knock his bloody teeth in,” Haurchefant growled.  
  
Francel felt panic churning in his stomach. He’d hoped Haurchefant would be more reasonable, but there was little hope of that once he was this wound up. Francel turned a tight smile to Dzemael, “Well, it’s been a pleasure, as always, but I’m afraid we really must be going now.” He attempted to tug Haurchefant in the direction of Haillenarte Manor, and achieved only stumbling, reluctant progress as Haurchefant kept his glare trained on the Dzemael boy.  
  
“Well, run along dog, your master is calling.” Dzemael gave a dismissive wave.  
  
Haurchefant lunged forward, dragging Francel along with him. Francel struggled to regain his footing, digging his heels into the cobblestones and gripping Haurchefant’s arm with both hands. He looked around desperately, and noticed his manor’s guard advancing toward them.  
  
“Let me go,” Haurchefant snarled.  
  
“No!” Francel gasped, feeling his grip slipping.   
  
The guard appeared beside him, locked his elbows below Haurchefant’s arms and physically dragged the struggling boy into Haillenarte Manor.   
  
Francel heaved a sigh of relief after he pushed the heavy door closed behind them, and both boys slumped to the floor.   
  
He glanced over to Haurchefant. The boy was breathing in short, hurried gasps.  
  
“Haurchefant…” Francel whimpered, placing a concerned hand on his friend’s shoulder. Haurchefant was shaking violently.   
  
Haurchefant drew his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his arms and sobbed.  
  
Francel shifted closer, wrapped his arm around his friend, and murmured apologies that he knew full well were useless, but he knew not what else to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, this one's super short again. Picking on House Dzemael some more because they seem to be the most canonly asshole-ish out of the four houses. Wanted this to be Tedalgrinche but I haven't been able to find any evidence that he's actually related to House Dzemael other than just being a random knight, so.. random House Dzemael kid it is for now.


End file.
